


Protective Details

by laEsmeralda



Series: Plain Truths [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3712771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry and John take a night alone to negotiate some details.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protective Details

**Author's Note:**

> This interlude occurs between _Intertwined_ and _Surprises_.

As Barry heads out for the evening, Joe catches him for a hug at the door, which is highly unusual. Barry soaks in the embrace, returns it, hesitates to leave. "Everything all right?"

"Just have fun for God's sake. I'm turning gray watching you wait for Iris to change her mind."

"I'm not—"

"Not on purpose, you're not."

Barry doesn't even try to argue. "I'm meeting John Diggle for a drink," he says, changing the subject and feeling somewhat disingenuous. "We aren't a pair to paint the town."

"Everything all right in Starling?"

"Much as it ever is."

"Nice that he'd come to see you." Joe's eyes are suddenly tough to read. "Nothing against Cisco or Caitlin, you know I really like them both. But I'm glad you've got friends outside the lab. Now go."

Barry flashes to the nearby bar, needing the exertion to dissipate some nerves. Greeting him with a hand-shake and a hug, John lets his lips casually brush Barry's temple. Barry reflects for a moment on how much more openly a man who looks like John can express affection before anyone speculates about his orientation. 

The bar is somehow quiet, chosen for nooks and crannies of plush booths. They have, of course, the best vantage point for security. John is thorough.

"So," Barry says. "You came all this way just to see me."

"There was an opportunity. Felt like I had to take it." They are briefly interrupted by the waiter, and then John resumes. "I've had time to think about how intimidating the whole situation must be to you. I tried to go with the flow, which works well for Oliver, but you and I are more… _planful_ if that's a word."

Barry's whole body warms. "The spontaneity was rewarding in this case, don't you think?"

John's smile holds many shared secrets, and agreement. "My love for Lyla, and… Oliver, it's consuming. I am a hierarchical thinker, military trained. The idea that time and energy aren't scarce resources, well, that doesn't work for me. I wouldn't mean to push you out or rank you last, but… I'm afraid I might."

"It's a little early for you to feel like you owe me anything," Barry chides. "But then, that's you. You're a loyal man." 

John looks sheepish. After a moment or two of struggle, he starts to speak.

Barry cuts him off. "You're here, talking with me. In person, when you have other people who need you. That means a lot." 

"Good. I intend it to." John leans back in the booth, his chest opening as his shoulders roll back, and Barry understands how tense he had been, worried about causing hurt. 

He resists the urge to touch John. "And I wouldn't have invited myself to Starling if I had known that you and Oliver were…. You know, I really need to develop a better-suited vocabulary," he says in frustration. 

"Getting physical again, fits, I think. That's not on you. It's Oliver trying to be all things to all people and keep nothing for himself. But he's kidding himself to some degree. He wanted you. He pursued you in the first place. The last thing he wanted was to turn down the opportunity. Besides, I had already told him he didn't need my permission."

"Still, I felt like an intruder once I knew."

There's a low rumble of rejection from the other man. "I hope that we warmly and thoroughly disabused you of that notion."

Something glows deep in Barry's stomach. He sips his drink to soothe a suddenly dry mouth. "It was unforgettable."

"You're a gift. Around you, people transform in a brief period of time, open themselves. I would never have laid a hand on someone so young, and it's tough not to think about that every time you come to mind, which is… often. I'm so grateful that you pushed past that and everything else." John reaches across the table and puts his hand on Barry's forearm.

Barry struggles not to deflect the compliments. "Thank you."

"It isn't just about Oliver coming back to me, and being comfortable with it. Or that I opened up to Lyla. You helped make those things happen. But I'm really trying to say that I'm thankful for knowing the man that you are." He lowers his voice. "And I still can't believe that you actually let me touch you."

Such a simple thing to say, and Barry gets hard for it. "I hope you will again," he says, heart thundering. He leaves off the _soon_.

John's brows crinkle. "Before we talk about that, I have to explain something else. Lyla and I, we've decided to get married. Lyla wants it, fully understanding who I am, knowing about Oliver and you. I want it too, so much."

"Congratulations!" Barry means it without reservation.

"I thought it might change how you feel about things. But it doesn't for Lyla and me. For as long as you're willing to be involved in the chaos." 

"I truly appreciate you telling me this," Barry replies. "I don't have any expectations, and it's tough to know how to behave." 

"I'll try to be there for you as best I can. With the exception of Joe, it must seem like no one organizes their lives around you, that you're always trying to fit theirs. I feel like one more part of that problem."

"You're here for me now."

"I am."

"So, I have some burning questions, if you don't mind _really_ being here for me for a minute."

"Fire away."

"Before that day, with Oliver, I'm pretty sure I wasn't in denial about my orientation. But…" he glances around, confirming that no one can overhear. "My um, responsiveness, suggests that I'm not straight after all. Maybe I could dismiss Oliver as an exceptional situation." At this point, Barry knows that his face is flushed. 

The edge of John's lips are curling upward, gently. "I've been thinking about that. My orientation is fluid and I've always been that way. Oliver, not so much, but on a continuum, he wouldn't be boxed as straight either." They have to both pause and smile at that. "In your case, I don't think it's that simple. What everyone calls _speed_ when they refer to your ability is more than that. You have control over the frequency at which your matter vibrates. You're learning to _tune_ yourself."

"I hadn't considered that." It's puzzling that Dr. Wells hasn't either. "It's a good theory."

"That night, you read me in the car. You were even able to do it in a crowded restaurant. Your openness, your empathy, prepared your mind for acquiring the physical ability to match yourself to others. And to somehow remain yourself as well, to choose what _not_ to match."

Barry suddenly recalls the dramatic loss of control of his anger, and the consequences. "I'm not all roses and sunshine," he says abruptly.

The compassion in John's eyes is breathtaking. "What I've done, the mistaken means to ends... most people just don't think about it. You and I do. We learn the lessons. We also have to forgive ourselves."

Barry nods, slowly taking it in. "So, maybe before the lightning, I could empathize with being gay or being bi, but I couldn't feel the feelings. Now, I'm mirroring?"

"I don't think it's simple reflection. I think you pick up on what the other is feeling, but it resonates with something in you that's compatible, makes you aware of your capacity, and then you instinctively explore it, amplify it."

"Maybe we should write a paper," Barry jokes. "Sorry, this is intense. I felt the need to be funny."

"What made you blush, tell me about that." 

"I don't want to assume anything," Barry says, letting out a pent breath. "I was trying to say that one guy is an exception, two guys is a pattern. Two points make a line."

"That's very mathematical of you, Professor Allen. Try saying it in a more personal way." John's humor makes the words less pointed.

Barry reminds himself that he's a grown man with very real needs. "I think about you. I get off to thinking about you."

"You need a label for that?" John asks, his voice low, his eyes sparkling. "'Cause I don't." He digs in his pocket and puts cash on the table. "I don't want to assume either, but I'll ask. Come with me?"

Barry follows. They drive in silence to John's hotel until Barry can't stand to not be saying what's on his mind. "I like all of you, Dig, but mostly, I visualize what's in your pants. It's like an obsession some days." He feels the surge of energy from John, the waves. The man's fingers are suddenly tight on the wheel. 

"You're making it difficult to get from the car to the room," he replies. 

Barry reaches over and grips Dig hard, eliciting a gasp. He considers tearing open the zipper and going to work with his mouth.

"Before you do anything else, remember that fitness aside, age does affect recovery. I'd rather not rush."

"Right. Me neither." Settling back into the seat, Barry concentrates on getting himself presentable again. It's maddening how deliberately Dig moves, parking the car, making their way through the lobby, casually scanning the crowd, chatting with another couple in the elevator. _Another couple_ is a disquieting thought.

Once safely locked inside the room, Barry remembers not to flash. He takes his time removing clothing, helping it be removed. John gets them both completely naked before he offers his mouth. The kiss, skin fully to skin, reinforces the points he made earlier. Aware of it now, Barry feels himself matching vibrations, senses the other man responding. John walks him to the bed at a leisurely pace, without breaking the contact of mouths. He draws the blanket down. And then he does pull back. 

"If you don't mind—and I get it if you do—I'd like to just look at you for a few minutes. I need a better memory of your whole body. How you move."

"For what?" Barry grins. 

John doesn't answer, but takes Barry's hand and presses his length into it. Barry bites his lip. 

"Yeah, okay. How?"

"Just go get your phone, look at it, move around, relax on the bed. Ignore me for a couple of minutes."

"Try, you mean," Barry retorts. But he does as John asks, finds his jeans by the door and retrieves the phone. There's a text. From Lyla. His heart jumps. He almost glances at John and then remembers not to. He thumbs through the text. 

_I want you to know that I cherish you and what you've brought to our family. Our extended family. Enjoy your time with John. Completely. Love, L."_

A pang of overwhelmed love answers somewhere deep in his chest. "Did you know I'd find this?"

"What?" Backlit, there's something genuinely puzzled in John's stance. Barry walks toward him, slowly, and hands him the phone. John reads. And smiles. He shakes his head and sets the phone aside. 

Barry kneels onto the bed and stretches out across it, folding his arms behind his head. He isn't particularly proud of his body, but John's appreciation is evident and he tries to bask in it. He wonders how John can look him over so directly and concludes that the man just has no hangups. That conclusion is reinforced a moment later when John grasps his own cock and slowly strokes it. His eyes close for a second and then open to lock on Barry's. "You're gorgeous," John says. He doesn't stop stroking, and Barry experiences a moment of worry that this is all going to end too soon. It must show, because John chuckles and says, "I can go for a long time." 

Barry does flash then, to move to his belly, hand wrapped around John's hand. He returns to normal time, guiding hard flesh into his mouth. John groans, a sound of satisfaction and yearning. Barry can sense that John's eyes are on his ass. He flexes just a little, driving himself into the bedding. It makes little lights burst behind his eyelids.

John's hand is suddenly in his hair. "Easy," he says, voice edgy. "I don't think you have any idea what a lethal combination that is."

Concentrating just on mouthing John's cock, Barry reflects on how much he likes doing it. Yes, John is big in this way too, but approachable. His skin is soft and heavy, the shape of him fits in a different way than Oliver, but just as well. And his hands are the gentlest of anyone he knows besides Joe. He quickly shuts that thought away, not wanting to mingle the contexts. 

John's flavor is more a galvanic sensation than a taste, like a sterling silver chain Barry used to wear and unconsciously mouth while studying. 

John cups his jaw and urges him away. "I have to stop you," he gasps, and then he pulls Barry up to kneeling and takes his mouth hard. 

Barry feels the protectiveness in John, battling with raw hunger, and he yields, every muscle in his body welcoming, trusting. John is a storm, thunder and lightning, and Barry knows now that he's a conduit, not something that the electricity will harm. It isn't that he wants to be fucked, not this time, it's not so simple. It's just the current going to ground. John's greater weight takes them down to the bed, crushing their hips together. 

John's knees open Barry's legs, press his thighs back. Barry somehow knows that John isn't going in, concentrates on their tongues swirling together. He gives voice to what he's feeling, without words. A big hand slides under his ass and shifts him to a better angle, their cocks wet together. John's mouth slides away. "God, Barry," is all John can say. He bites the side of Barry's neck. His hips thrust, Barry's roll in response. Harder and faster. Barry lets his hands drift to John's lush ass, fingertips digging in, feeling the rhythm with his whole body. 

Finally, John is moving so fast, so strongly, that Barry has to resist the urge to flash in self-defense. Instead, he matches the pace in real time, sensing his own loss of control close by. Throats are going to be sore from the sound. They hold on so hard that bruises will result. He imagines that if John had been inside him, there's no way he could have contained the energy, and that last glimpse of a thought takes him through their climax and back to clarity.

He wraps around John and rolls them to their sides. He doesn't let go. It becomes apparent that tears are skimming down John's face. Barry thumbs them away. 

"That was amazing," John husks. His eyes open. "Makes me realize that there's something else I have to tell you."

Barry waits, sated, happy. There's pretty much nothing John could say to spoil how he feels right now, so he anticipates _more_ information—always his preference.

"Before you came up to Starling last time, I basically made Oliver promise that any fucking, if ever, would occur only between him and me. It was possessive and… just wrong to do. I won't place limits like that again. I trust you both completely."

"It's okay. What I felt with you that night, I can't explain it. It isn’t something I go around wanting. You were right, in that moment, to be careful. Now, I know I can trust you with anything."

"It's funny, all the times I coaxed Oliver into some scenario or other, I never needed to fuck him, or for him to fuck me. The only thing I've ever felt was lacking was that he wouldn't kiss me, that he had to fight it. You changed all that. And the other guys, I never imagined it with them, it just isn't my thing. But your offer, as soon as you said it, God, I wanted you so badly. You don't just mirror others, Barry, you take us where you go. Tonight, I felt that what you wanted was something different. And what we did was as complete an experience as sex could ever be." 

Barry lets himself soak into John's gaze for a few long moments. "I needed that so much. Everything you said tonight, Lyla's note. Being with you." He sighs.

"I want this, again, more of it. God knows I want Oliver to have more of you. But I'm also feeling like you should tell us to piss off and find yourself someone worthy just for you. Woman, man, _whatever_. Someone completely devoted to you. That's what you deserve."

Searching John's eyes, a thought occurs to Barry. "What if, because of what I've become, I need more than one person? You keep assuming that this is somehow bad for me. Like Oliver… he thinks he's poison. He's not. You're worried that I'm neglected, but I feel respected and wanted—more than ever before in my life."

"As long as you stop sacrificing every last bit of yourself for others. Make sure it's what you want." 

"Okay." Barry strokes a hand up John's arm. "Speaking of _want_ , I have to go back to something you said earlier. That you never wanted to fuck Oliver. Really? I've had all of a couple of months to introduce myself to guy-guy stuff, and I'd do him. Hypothetically."

Something pained passes through John's eyes. "I said I never _needed_ it. Listen, the military is set up to be hyper-masculinized in a narrow bandwidth. Any sex that isn't straight, consenting sex is about conquest and dominance, something the vanquished can't prevent. And I'm… sizable. I ignored lots of joking about the damage I could do to enemy men, secret torpedo and all that. So there's a set of connotations I can't un-hear and don't want. I don't know the full extent of what was done to Oliver while he was a prisoner, but I would never…." He can't finish.

Barry soothes him with gentle hands. "What did he say when you wanted to make the pact to save up for each other?"

"That nothing we do together could remind him of torture." John's eyes darken again. "It wasn't a denial. It makes me want to rip apart anyone who ever hurt him. But I still felt some sort of victory when he admitted that he thinks about doing it with me."

"You're human. Wonderfully human. Sometimes we want proof of love, right? I meant it when I offered. But I don't feel like anything is missing. It was more an urge to be as close as possible."

"I know that urge." John kisses him, softly, over and over. "I'd love for Lyla to want you," John sighs. 

He isn't sure he heard right. "What?"

"Sounds crazy, I know. But after you've come with me, and you're ready again so soon, like now," John illustrates with a light squeeze, "She would climb on for a slow ride, no insecurities, no rush. Hot and soft, and because you're you, you'd discern that rhythm it took me so long to find, pressing up just right, and then she'd shudder all around you which would bring you again. And I could watch all that." John says it all with complete sincerity.

It's awkward, feeling himself respond so strongly to John's voice and hand, and _what_ he's saying. Lyla, a powerful person, with all the qualities of _woman_ he's been doing without. He tries not to make a sound.

"I've never wanted to bring Oliver in. It's not right for her. But you, your sweetness. Yeah." He strokes harder. 

"Dig," Barry warns. John moves swiftly down his body, sliding him into his mouth. His hands grip Barry's hips and rock him. Barry gasps at the onslaught, the feel of John's tongue swirling around him. He gives in. 

When he can catch his breath, he says, "I'm not responsible for things that happen while you're touching me."

John laughs lightly. "No. That was awesome." He runs a hand over Barry's hip to his waist and ribs. "And I wasn't fooling. I've been thinking about it. Probably too much for Lyla to take on right now, but maybe not."

Barry scrubs a hand over his face, groping for John's shoulder with the other. "Too much for me to take on right now." 

"Fair enough. There's just something about the way you come," John says, marveling, "I want to see it and hear it over and over. I've never been much of a repeat customer with men. Besides Oliver."

"John, if you don't stop talking and touching me, it's going to happen again, soon, and I'm in desperate need of water. And peeing. And food." He smiles, wanting John to know it's a call for a temporary halt. A very temporary halt, since he takes care of two of the three needs before John can answer. He hands John the refilled glass. 

Chuckling, John rolls to his stomach to drink. Barry peruses his back, fingers remembering the flex of ass and thigh muscles driving them together. He starts to stir and turns away, conscious that it has only been forty-five minutes since they hit the room. He rifles his pockets for an energy bar, which disappears in a few ravenous bites. 

"Barry," John chides, gently, "don't hide. I'm a pretty secure guy, and this isn't a competition."

"It's more about reciprocity," Barry replies. "I can't make you feel as good, as often."

"I'm plenty happy with the situation." Vaulting off the bed, John beckons him. "Come take a shower with me."

The hot water sheets over them. John's hands are everywhere, exploring. It seems like he doesn't mean to arouse, but to _know_ , and Barry relaxes into his touch. Lips on Barry's neck, John washes away the glaze of semen from their bellies. He runs soapy thumbs into Barry's armpits, probing the subtle muscles there, slides down to caress his ribs. Finally, Barry turns in his arms, wanting to touch as well. 

Under his own hands, John is like a moving statue with lush, smooth skin. No, Barry reflects, he's more like a domesticated predator, full of contained power, willing to submit to a stroking hand, to purr. Barry's hands skim down John's belly to find his cock, to get to know it better. It's semi-hard, heavy. His fingers dance behind, sliding between the softest part of his buttocks. John doesn't tense, his eyes close. Barry circles with respectful fingertips, just feeling the terrain, lingering, and then withdrawing, clasping John's now full hardness. John lets out a harsh breath. 

Barry can't help his response, and when John pulls him in for a kiss, they're both ready. After a breathless minute, he eases John around to face the tile wall and braces his hands on top of John's. John shifts his feet a little wider. Barry presses himself to the deep channel and slides along it, gasping at the first stroke. He takes one hand down and gets a grip on John's cock. " _Don't_ come with me," he demands. 

His nipples aren't particularly erogenous, but rubbing wetly against the muscles of John's back, they let him know that he doesn't know everything about himself yet. He sucks softly at the nape of John's neck. This last orgasm is hard and slow and blinding. Barry groans into it, somehow not losing his grip on John's hand or cock.

John is trembling, that's what makes Barry lift his head. The flesh in his full hand is pulsing. He lets go, sluices water down John's back, and then gently says, "Turn around," as he goes to his knees. His whole body moves to the task. He remembers Oliver's admonition not to take in too much, to leave room. Lips, both hands, tongue, all sliding in slightly different directions. He hears John's shoulders smack the tile as he leans back, hopes he's watching. The rhythm is hypnotic. John's hand is in his hair, diverting the water off his face. 

"Don't swallow, Barry," John insists, raggedly, "not this time." 

He waits until it's almost too late, feels the first pulse below, and pulls aside, keeping his mouth on the shaft so he can still feel with his tongue and lips as well as his hands. He can hear the wet splatter on the glass surround. John moans, low and soft, like it hurts and doesn't.  
*******

John has insisted on driving him home. It's late but not egregious, and there's a chance Joe is still up. 

"Come in, have a beer?"

"Sure. So, what were we doing all night?"

"Shooting pool. You do shoot, right?" He thinks he can see the slightest smirk across the dim car.

"Name of the place?"

"Corner Pocket, of course."

"Oh, we were there with the STAR Labs crew last visit."

"Yep. That way you know the details of the place if you need to be specific."

"No chance that Joe or—"

"Not a cop hangout. And I've never seen Iris there."

As they settle into sociability, Barry hands out beer. Joe and John swap military for a bit, and then the three of them switch to art. And then the challenge of supporting the exceptional. After an hour, John checks his phone and says its time for his goodnight call with Lyla. Joe and Barry both embrace him at the door and he heads out into the night.

Joe and Barry tidy up in comfortable silence. 

"Barry," Joe says as they wash and dry the last dish, and there's something in his tone that makes Barry almost drop an empty bottle into the sink.

"Yeah?" he says, trying his best to sound normal.

"You know, I hope, that there's nothing you are capable of being or doing that would truly freak me out, right?" 

"Um, Joe, you're freaking _me_ out."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm going about this awkwardly." Joe bites his thumb and then catches himself. "I think that you're finding solace with unexpected people. A male person, or maybe two, to be precise."

Barry knows his face is panicked and he can't cover it.

"Shh," Joe says, "Dammit. I'm trying to tell you it's fine. I don't want you wasting any energy—yours or mine—trying to hide it from me, or worrying about what I think. The only way _that_ man is going to hurt you is if he dies protecting the other man who might hurt you because he doesn't think he deserves to be happy. And that's all I care about." 

"How." It's all Barry can say, and he can't manage the question mark.

Joe scoffs, "Give me some credit. I notice when people get protective of you, because I am, I appreciate that in others, and I'm careful to figure out why. Every line of Dig's body tonight was bodyguard perfect."

"He's like that with everyone he feels responsible for."

"Right, but why does he feel responsible for _you_? And Oliver was the same when he was here." Joe smothers a smile. "Besides, you both smell like the same fancy hotel body wash."

Barry drops his face in his hands. It feels hot to the touch. 

"Okay, before I butt out and retreat to my room, _please_ tell me you had fun. For once. Because you both sat here and talked like you'd just come back from having pie with church ladies."

Almost groaning with the embarrassment, Barry says, "Yes, I had fun."

Joe slaps his back. "Good man." He heads upstairs without another word.

When a few minutes have passed, the dishes are stacked away, and he has changed into his favorite t-shirt and sweats, Barry realizes what a relief it is that Joe knows. And then, he's overwhelmed that Joe could love him, somebody else's troublesome kid, so damn much. He goes down the hall. The TV is on, softly playing a folk concert. He knocks. Joe's voice murmurs the familiar welcome. 

Barry opens the door. "Thank you," he says to the man who raised him next to his own daughter without any help to speak of.

"Don't thank me, Christ! This is how parents are supposed to be."

"But you really _are_ this way." Barry climbs under the blanket next to Joe, nestles into the crook of his arm, just like he did when he was nine, and fourteen, and sometimes after the lightning. "'Night, Other Dad," he says, and falls asleep in the safest place there is.  
*******


End file.
